


Cinnamon

by eadunne2



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Come Marking, Donna is Donna, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy, Frankly this is ridiculous, I'd be embarrassed, Ice Cream, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Undressing With Eyes, but - Freeform, it's a blatant and shameless excuse for sweet, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 15:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10128671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eadunne2/pseuds/eadunne2
Summary: The AC goes out at the office.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ummm  
> so this happened?
> 
> It's fluffy, smutty, ridiculousness. I hope you enjoy!

It is literally hot as fuck. 

A corner office in a high rise loses its grandeur real fast when the AC dies and you realize the windows don't open. 

“What do you mean the air conditioning is out?”

Donna twists her hair up off her neck and secures it with a pencil. “Harvey, I'm not sure I can be much more clear than that.”

It's barely 9 am and already the office is sweltering. An hour before Mike even thought to ask about their sauna of a work space, he’d propped the office door open and took off his tie, and it's a testament to the extremity of the situation that Harvey had nothing to say about either. 

“Well, when’ll it be back on?”

“I think about quarter past How The Fuck Would I Know.”

Mike laughs. Harvey pouts. “You know everything.”

“I'm going to remember you said that. And I probably would know if I cared, but I don't, because just like everyone else in this goddamn building, I'm going home.”

“Like hell you are.” She blinks slowly at him, and Mike gulps, trying to telepathically communicate that, Harvey be damned, he's on her side and to please not kill him as she takes out his boss. As if no one had ever said differently, Harvey amends calmly, “Have a wonderful evening, and please forward me the templates for the spreadsheets.”

She beams, calling over her shoulder, “I'll even format them for you.”

“Wooow,” Mike murmurs around the cap of his highlighter. 

“What.”

“How are your balls feeling? I mean, she obviously has them -”

“Mention my balls ever again -”

“Don't worry. They won't hear me all the way over there. I mean, Donna's fist is as safe a place is any -”

“Have we talked about how your bonus comes from me and not Jessica?” 

“You're a fabulous boss,” Mike grins. “A gentleman and a scholar.”

“Mm-hm,” Harvey hums to his computer screen. “And don't you forget it.”

Mike doesn't even ask if they're leaving, too. Maybe Harvey will at some point, but Mike's pretty sure he's condemned to researching inside a volcano for the rest of the day. It's not that this case is particularly important, it's just that Louis has been assigned to the same project, and who ever wins - honestly Mike doesn't even remember the actual reward from Jessica is - what matters is bragging rights, and there's no way Harvey's giving that up over a few hours of discomfort. 

Mike shuts it all out in favor of reading and when he looks up again it's eleven a.m. and the floor is quiet. Harvey has gotten rid of his tie and undone the top few buttons of his shirt. The white fabric hangs open slightly and Mike can see tan skin and … oh no. 

The older man is frowning at his laptop, and without tearing his eyes away, shucks his suit jacket. The fabric of the button up is rendered slightly translucent by sweat, and Mike can see the curve of his biceps through the sleeve. The way the cloth clings to the delicate spaces of Harvey's body Mike's never been allowed to see seems almost inappropriately intimate. He takes a huge breath and lets it out slowly. 

“Did you find those dates?” 

Mike startles. “Oh. Yeah. They're - I emailed. Them. To you.” 

Bemused, Harvey glances up. His hair is a little messy from heat and he looks almost boyish with that smile creeping across his face. “Is your brain melting?”

“Definitely,” Mike whispers. Not from the heat, but still …

“It's good for you. Builds character. ”

“You're the boss. I’m going to go get a water, though. You want one?”

Harvey shrugs and returns to his work. 

It's magnificently unfair that Harvey can function so unperturbed in the heat as it's rendering him the absolute sexiest he's ever been, and Mike's seen the man looking all kinds of drop dead gorgeous. On the way back from the break room Mike makes a stop in the bathroom, splashing his face and neck in icy water, trying to cool his pulse points enough that he might manage to keep his body from embarrassing him. 

In the mirror, blue eyes blink back from over pink cheeks. He looks almost normal, aside from the water running down his face and neck, but the rest of him is already so goddamn damp it doesn't even register. With a sigh, he heads back.

“Hey. Fearless leader. Heads up.” 

Without looking, Harvey catches the bottle midair and cracks the cap. Mike stares at the long line of throat, the movement of his Adam's apple as he gulps the water down, and when a droplet escapes Harvey's mouth and trickles over his collarbone Mike must make a noise because Harvey glances up. 

“Thought you went to get water, not go for a swim.” The tease misses the mark in his suddenly thick voice, but not in a bad way. Those dark eyes stare, entranced via magnetism until Mike shifts, craving a “more” he's not allowed to want, and the older man seems to notice himself. 

“Get your ass back in here. We've got a bet to win.” 

Right. Work. Because Harvey's his boss. 

“Aye aye, Captain.”

I seems like it's only getting warmer, but that might be Mike's imagination. Thankfully, he's been assigned some calculations to double check and there's no mental energy left over for ogling his boss. 

And then Harvey rolls up his sleeves. 

He does it fucking slowly, too, like he's putting on a show, but he's still absorbed in whatever the hell is so goddamn important on his computer, so it's just sheer, enticing absent mindedness. 

Mike shudders. Harvey's got those forearms lined with a few veins shifting ever the evident muscle, but he's still long limbed and strangely delicate for so aggressive a figure. While his nails are perfectly manicured, there are a few silvery pink lines and patches on his knuckles, a layer of complexity to an already confounding man. 

Goddamn it. Mike runs trembling fingers through already damp hair, gives himself another fifteen seconds of fighting a hard on at the sight of another man’s goddamn fucking forearms, and gets back to work.

Files. Receipts. Credit card statements. Mike sinks lower into the couch, avoiding the sun ‘til eventually he slides off the furniture all together and lies on the floor on the shadowed side, holding the file above his head to block out the sliver of gold creeping over the arm. 

It's surprisingly comfortable. Or maybe it’s just that he knows he’s safe.

There's a hand on his chest. It should feel oppressive in the thick heat, but it feels like home, being tucked in perfectly tight, hugging a person whose body fits your own. 

“Mike. Hey.” Gentle. A cinnamon caramel voice drips through his synapses and Mike sighs. “Hey. Kid. Wake up.”

Resurfacing from sleep feels like swimming through mud, but when he opens his eyes, Harvey's crouched down next to him, so it’s worth it. “Shit,” Mike says softly, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

Harvey doesn't pull away, just runs his hand from side to side across Mike’s sternum, comforting. “It's alright. You've only been out for a few minutes. Come on. Let's get some lunch.”

“Lunch. Awesome.” For a moment, neither of them move, locked into each other’s orbit, but then Harvey pulls Mike upright as the kid mutters, “‘S fucking ridiculous in here.”

“So roll up your sleeves.” Harvey collects his wallet from the desk and turns around to Mike yawning. 

“I can’t. I’m melting.”

Harvey tries to scold him with a weary, “Are you serious? ” but he’s too busy looking amused to really stick the landing. 

Mike wiggles his arms and his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “Heeelp. Help me. If I die, it’ll be your fault. I can see the headline now. ‘Cruel boss allows employee to melt’.” He’s kidding, sleepy and slap happy until Harvey closes the space between them to mere inches.

“Well. We can’t have that.”

Mike stops breathing.

Casual as you please, Harvey picks up his associate’s wrist and unbuttons the light blue shirt cuffed there. With deft fingers, he folds the fabric at the seam, again, again, then jiggles it a little to keep it tight and Mike feels a surge of satisfaction about his limb being controlled, momentary puppetry. If only.

One thumb slides down the sensitive underside of Mike’s arm as Harvey switches hands. The other wrist is already tingling, magnified by the way Harvey’s nails scritch lightly on either side of the bone as he creases this cuff. By the third turn, Mike can barely breathe watching Harvey’s face, reading nothing but the utmost calm, bottom lip pushed slightly forward as the only indication of his concentration. Mike wants to bite it. 

Instead, he bites his own tongue, teasing,“Thanks. You saved my life.”

Harvey chuckles, stepping back, supremely unaffected as he leaves the office. “Can’t have my employees dying on me. Especially one that looks so devastating in shirtsleeves. Come on, rookie.”

It takes a full minute for Mike to get his legs moving, and by then he has to jog to make it to the elevator. 

What just happened?

It’s heinously hot outside, too, but the sky is so blue it hurts, dotted with puffs of cotton and birds flitting from tree to tree. Bread and coffee and the flower shop a few doors down twine together, and as a family walks past smelling of sunscreen, Mike can’t help but blurt, “Oh holy shit it’s gorgeous out.”

Harvey rocks back on his heels, hands in his pockets as they wait in line. He nods. “New York’s the best damn city in the world.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” Mike rolls his eyes fondly. Harvey’s been everywhere. Mike’s been - well, he’s seen all five boroughs, and one or two small towns.

“I got lucky,” Harvey agrees and Mike stares. 

“Lucky? What happened to Mr. I Make My Own Luck?”

His boss smirks and runs a hand through his hair, effortlessly beautiful in a way Mike will never be. The guy in front of them walks away, and Harvey orders for them both without bothering to consult Mike first. He pays for both of them too, though, which greatly soothes the oversight.

They’re halfway through hot dogs and the bag of Ruffles they’re sharing when Harvey finishes the previous sentiment, though it takes Mike a second to catch back up.

“Here? Now? I make my own luck. But Jessica finding me? Me finding Donna? Growing up in a way that taught me exactly what I’d need to make it in this world? With that, I got lucky.”

“Huh.” Mike wants to ask a million questions about the path that led this incredible man through life and onto this shaded park bench, licking salt off his fingers and bumping their shoulders together. “I guess I did too. Unbelievably so.”

“Oh yeah?” Harvey’s listening intently despite the lack of eye contact. He’s relaxed, one ankle on the opposite knee, and his body’s tilted just slightly in Mike’s direction. “How so?”

Mike takes a swig of Coke. “You, idiot.”

The smile that spreads across his face could win wars, or start them. “I think we both came out on top on that one.”

There’s a mental image Mike won’t survive. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to work out a way to dispel it, because Harvey wolfs down the last of his hot dog and says, “Let’s go.”

“Can we stay a little longer?” He’s not really looking forward to the inevitable marinating in a sweat box of one-sided sexual frustration. Not yet.

“We’re not going back to the office yet, champ. Get your ass up. Come on.”

Mike crunches through the chip crumbs at the bottom of the bag and complies, walking easily next to Harvey. Wherever they’re heading is on the way back to work, but they’re moving slowly enough Mike’s not worried. The shade in the park and the smell of Harvey’s cologne, plus that sunscreen from earlier, is making him nostalgic, and for whatever fucking reason he says, “When I was a kid my mom used to take us out on days like this - wherever, the pool, woods, lake, park. Pack a lunch, obviously, but at the end of the day when we were all sunburnt and delirious she’d drive to this field outside of town, lay a blanket down in the truck bed, and she always brought lemonade in an old red Coleman, a tub of watermelon, and a steam pot full of popcorn. 

Sometimes we’d look at the stars, but mostly I just remember juice running down my neck from eating watermelon lying down. I remember being warm. I didn’t think about being safe because I’d never been in danger. It was just home.”

The intimacy of the confession really starts to sink in a moment before Harvey rolls his shoulders back a few times and says quietly, “My dad would take Marc and I to our grandma’s...she had this little pond in the back… I know what you mean, sunburnt and delirious. We’d fall asleep on the carpet in front of Gram’s fireplace and wake up in our beds at home. Sometimes I’d wake up - when Dad unbuckled us from the car or when he was taking us up the stairs - but I always pretended to stay asleep so he wouldn’t put me down.” He nods at his own memory, echoing, “It was home.”

There’s no way it’s appropriate, but Mike can’t help it. As they make their way off the park path and down an alley, he headbutts Harvey’s arm affectionately. Harvey elbows him back with a soft smile. 

Mike tries not to grin too hard. 

The alley they’re traversing is nicer than some streets Mike’s lived on so it’s not entirely surprising to find a little storefront, a green window frame with yellow paint and Harvey hollers, “Lydia!”

A confusingly small woman appears at the window, takes one look at Harvey, and throws up her hands. “My cinnamon boy!” With a rustle she bursts from the door, taking his face in her hands. “Look at you! Untucked for once,” she laughs.

Shockingly, he looks a little embarrassed. “It’s too hot for propriety, Lydia.”

She scoffs, then turns to take in Mike’s appearance. “I’ll tell you what’s too hot for propriety…”

“Oh my god,” Mike blushes, heading off wherever this train is about to go. “Hello ma’am. I’m -”

“Come on, boy,” she interrupts. “Something to cool you down.”

When she disappears back into the apartment Mike turns to Harvey. “Ok, first of all, what? And as a follow up question - what?”

Harvey chuckles. “Gotta keep you on your toes, kid.”

“Cute-ass! Over here!”

Mike looks over his shoulder. “Is she talking to me?”

Harvey’s gaze warms. “Oh, definitely.” 

For the time being, Mike’s more frightened of Lydia’s wrath than curious about that comment, but only barely, so he makes his way to the little window where she’s holding out - “Two cinnamon cones.”

“You could’ve asked him what he wanted,” Harvey scolds gently, but Lydia makes noise in the back of her throat. 

“He’s yours. He gets what you get.” 

For the first time in their entire friendship, Mike and Harvey are on equal footing in terms of discomfort. It’s oddly satisfying.

“Thank you,” Mike says, trying to convey as much genuine appreciation as possible, for the food, and for knowing.

“You’re welcome.” She’s still smiling at him when she snaps, “You put that wallet away, Harvey Reginald Specter.” Mike wonders if she has eyes on the side of her head. Or spidey senses.

“Lydia - ”

“You and Mike can make me dinner sometime. Once you two have finally gotten your goddamn heads out of your asses and -”

“OK!” he says. “Wallet gone. Jesus christ, woman.” 

She winks and disappears, leaving them standing on flower speckled cobblestones, where Mike mumbles through a mouthful, “I don’t know what the fuck that was about, but this ice cream is sent from heaven.”

Harvey turns the rim of the cone against his tongue, catching the beginnings of the rapidly softening scoop. “Obviously.”

“I think she’s a mind reader,” he adds.

Ominously, Harvey nods. “Agreed.”

“She know some secrets about you, Harvey Specter?”

With a suppressed smile, Harvey murmurs, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” and Mike can’t not ask.

“Then how did she know my name?” 

Harvey stiffens. “We should get back to the office,” and he disappears out the other end of the alley.

Mike mouths at the ice cream sulkily. “Of course.”

Lydia’s is less than ten minutes walk from their building, just enough time to get their cones nice and drippy, but at this point they’ve given up on manners so as they board the elevator, they’re licking sugary cream from their hands with relish.

Somehow, this inconvenient malfunction of the air conditioner has turned an ordinary work shift into one of the best days of his life. It can’t possibly last, but Mike is practiced at reliving good memories as a method of survival, so he tries not to mourn something he hasn't quite lost yet.

“Thanks for lunch,” he mumbles, trying to avoid staring at the drip of ice cream trickling down Harvey’s wrist.

“Thanks for staying.”

“I had a choice?” he teases.

Harvey scoffs, nipping at the cone, and maybe Mike hasn’t had enough water today, because time slows down as he watches his boss lounge against the wall of the elevator, dipping his head to lap a drip of ice cream from his pulse point and Mike is struck dumb by how badly he wishes it was his mouth on that wrist.

The bell signaling their floor dings, but far away and in a lower octave. Harvey catches Mike staring, and time could’ve gone ahead and sped up again, everything could’ve been fine, but there must’ve been some ice cream left on Harvey’s mouth because with brown eyes glued to blue, he licks his bottom lip. Something in the center of Mike’s body gives way, and thank god the elevator door slides open just then because he’s going to die of wanting what’ll never be his.

Harvey’s voice booms from behind him as Mike hurries past empty boardrooms and desks and offices. The whole place is fucking deserted, lights off letting the afternoon sun do the work. “Mike?”

“Can’t, sorry, dying,” he waves over his shoulder, not slowing his pace. 

“Mike!” 

Mike makes it to the office, drops the last inch of cone into the trash and catches himself on the edge of Harvey’s desk. 

“Are you ok?”

Am I ok? he wonders. He doesn’t feel ok. He feels like tearing himself to shreds and starting over, or just letting the scraps scatter down that flower-speckled alley. He’s in love with his boss and best friend and mentor and he might be having a panic attack, probably an endorphin crash from being obscenely turned on all morning.

“I’m fine,” he tries, but it comes out a rasp. 

Irritated, Harvey says, “Try again.”

Mike whirls around to yell at all six feet of this infuriating, wind blown, sunkissed, calm and collected man, but as usual, it doesn’t go quite according to plan. 

If he had any blood left in his brain, Mike would've been worried about Harvey's impressive upper cut. Instead, he kisses him, letting the momentum send them crashing back against the wall. Without hesitation, Harvey brings his hand up to cup the back of Mike’s head, holding him there.

Mike has wanted Harvey since the moment they met, and loved him for almost as long. That very first conversation, he saw kindness and curiosity and humor and genius on a face that only ever gave off smug to the rest of the world. In just that first year, Harvey shared vulnerability and loyalty, and second, third, umpteenth chances, until Mike stopped keeping track because he felt like he finally belonged. 

Harvey’s always meant more to Mike than he should’ve, and based on the noise Harvey just made, maybe that feeling isn’t one sided.

MIke gets a hand into the tails of Harvey’s shirt and pulls upward, working his way under the fabric to scratch a desperate, pleading trail down Harvey’s spine. They both freeze, then the older man growls deep in his chest, and without much ceremony but embodying impossible coordination, picks Mike up, carries him the four steps to the couch, kicks the coffee table backwards a yard or two, and just as Mike gets his legs around Harvey’s waist, they flop down onto the leather with a groan. 

Urgently, Mike arches himself upward, desperate to get his hands and mouth all over Harvey before he figures out all the downsides to fucking his employee, or realizes he’s straight, or whatever horrible crisis is going to ruin Mike all over again.

Then again, if he loses this, there might not be much left to destroy.

Receiving the message, Harvey sits back and peels his shirt off, tossing it over the back of the couch then attacking Mike’s to get him barechested as well. 

“It doesn’t seem fair,” Mike pants. “That you get to be rich and brilliant and successful and ridiculously gorgeous. Isn’t there a cap or something?”

Harvey grins wickedly, leaning in to scrape his teeth along Mike’s throat. “You lied your way into a job interview, spilled weed on my shoes, and conned me into a job. And you know what’s not fair?”

The bubble of joy that’s been swelling in Mike’s throat crumples a little at the reminder of how out of is league Harvey is, but he listens, because he’s not about to leave. 

“It took me a whole goddamn year to figure out I’d been in love with you since that first fucking second.” 

Mike chokes on Harvey’s name, and then throws a knuckle between his teeth, too overwhelmed as Harvey wriggles down and divests him of his slacks. 

“Oh no, kid,” Harvey chastises. “This might be the only chance we have to do this here. You’re gonna make some noise for me.” 

Mike shakes his head. Like he knows better, the smarmy asshole, Harvey just kisses him, then kneels at Mike’s feet. He bites a kiss into the inside of both thighs then runs his hands up over the marks to get a hold on Mike’s hip bones, then noses where Mike’s leg meets his groin, inhaling, smiling against the soft skin. When he sits back on his heels, his cheeks are flushed, his pupils are blown, and he looks so goddamn gorgeous in the waning sunlight streaking through the windows that Mike barely registers he’s unzipping his slacks.

“You love me?” Mike whispers.

“You didn’t know?” Harvey sounds surprised. “I didn’t hide it particularly well.”

“You never said anything!” 

“Oh, hey, employee whose future depends on me, let me complicate this already fucked situation with feelings.”

“Feelings? I thought -”

“Shut it, rookie.”

Delighted, Mike sits up, takes Harvey’s face in hand and kisses him soundly. “For the record, it’s mutual.”

Harvey glances down. “I can tell.” 

Mike raises a brow. “Back at ya, champ.” Then he pleads, “Show me.” 

Looking entirely too pleased with himself, Harvey sits back and takes his cock out, stroking in long, controlled pulls that have Mike whimpering. And then Harvey leans in, sliding his mouth over the head of Mike’s dick, obscene and slow and wet and Mike cries out unable to contain himself.

“Good boy,” Harvey breathes, and sinks back down. 

Mike does his level best to keep his hips down, he really does, but Harvey’s fucking mesmerizing, so goddamn distracting that mere minutes in, Mike rolls his pelvis up a bit, shoving his cock further back. He freezes, but instead of choking or pulling off, Harvey sucks a deep breath in through his nose and lets Mike slide all the way back, easy as pie.

It sounds more like a sob, but Mike groans, “Oh my god, Harvey,” and fucks into his mouth again. Harvey doesn’t stop him. He can take it, calm and even more sure of himself as Mike becomes less coherent.

The man watches him intently, responding to every twitch and breath and cry, and Mike’s a quick study - it doesn’t take him long to realize those little noises are what spur Harvey into pumping himself harder. As Mike falls apart he watches Harvey’s chest rise and fall, watches his free hand move to white-knuckle the couch. The realization that Harvey’s getting off on him sends him right to the edge. There’s nothing but choked off breaths and groans left in Mike’s lungs but he manages - “I’m gonna come.”

Harvey just swallows him down and Mike can’t help it, a hand flies up to cup the back of his head, gripping dark hair as he comes. The moment Mike can breathe again Harvey’s pushing out of his hold and Mike worries he might have crossed a line, but it’s not that at all. Harvey’s back up on the couch in a flash, straddling Mike’s hips, and he doesn’t look away, focused and sincere and so close to release it looks like agony. 

“Mike,” he pleads and Mike reaches out, rolling Harvey’s balls in his palm then pressing one knuckle into the sensitive space behind. “God,” he whispers. “Wanted you forever.”

Mike smiles. “Been yours forever.”

And that’s it. Bowing his head, Harvey comes, shuddering and so hard it splashes up onto Mike’s chin and lower lip. Without thinking, Mike laps it up.

Growling, Harvey grips his jaw with an iron hand to kiss him mercilessly. “So fuckin’ perfect.” An absent hand is rubbing the come into Mike’s chest like baptism. When Harvey’s finally done tongue fucking him they both look down. Maybe it should be weird. It’s not.

“I like you marking me.”

“I like knowing you’re mine.”

“Duh. Idiot.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Mike sticks out his tongue. “I make my own luck.”

“If you weren’t so goddamn cute,” Harvey threatens, but Mike just yawns and stretches, purposefully arching his back to show off the lean line of his body.

“Alas, I definitely, totally fucking am. So you’re stuck with me.”

Fondly, Harvey murmurs, “I’ll manage.”

“You’re nothing if not resourceful.”

“Too true. Think I could lure you off this couch?”

“To…?”

“My shower? That come’s only gonna be fun until it dries.”

Mike nods, then realizes, “What about the case?”

He’s expecting some hesitation, or a Plan B, or at the very least bringing it home with them. 

“Fuck it.”

“Wha - really?”

“Mike. Yes.”

“You sure? I know you wanted to win.”

“You know what I want? I want to take you home and clean you up and get you dirty again, and feed you dinner, and fall asleep in front of the TV with you in my arms. Louis can have this one. I got everything I need.”

“Can I pick the show?” Mike quips hopefully, praying Harvey misses the wetness on his eyelashes. 

Harvey doesn’t miss anything, of course, but he plays nice anyway, teasing as he rises to pull on his pants. “As long as it doesn’t suck.”

“Will you fuck me?” 

Harvey’s knees dip a little. “Jesus. Fuck yes.”

“Will this still be real tomorrow?”

“For a couple thousand tomorrows I hope.” He eyes Mike strangely, and it takes a second to realize that the look on his face is nervousness. 

“So you do have emotions,” Mike crows, wriggling back into his own clothing. 

“Don’t go spreading it around.”

“Can I cook you dinner?”

“You can cook?”

Mike spreads his hands. “You have good taste in men.”

“I already knew that.”

“No one likes a smart ass.”

“I think we’re both living proof that’s not true,” Harvey teases, and they both chuckle as Mike wraps his arms beneath Harvey’s and lays his head on that broad chest.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Let’s go home.”

\--

“Benjamin? What are you doing up here?”

He blinks disdainfully at Mike. “I’m here to see Donna.”

Mike grins. “Well. Don’t let me get in your way.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” and he sidesteps the overeager kid. 

Donna’s waiting with a thick envelope. 

“Based on that ridiculousness, I’m guessing it worked?” 

“Oh, Benjamin. Like a charm. Who’d have thought IT had access to climate control?”

He leans on the raised edge of the desk with a forearm and a raised eyebrow. “Oh, Donna. I have access to all kinds of things.”

Her responding smile would’ve made a lesser man crumble. “That makes two of us.”

\--

Harvey blinks through the glass. “Why is Donna flirting with Benjamin?”

Mike glances up at the two of them then shrugs, returning to his work. “Eh. As long as he never checks the security tapes, we’re good.” Then he freezes. “Oh shit. What if he checks the security tapes?”

Harvey throws his head back and laughs. “He should be so lucky.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me at seasless.tumblr.com


End file.
